I’ve still been doing this thing; I’m trying to persevere. As I have done so there have been some days that I fell into a rut with something that I found bearable and other days that I summoned something Awful onto my breakfast table. Here’s a basic overview.
I may have something and I have to give mad props to Betty Crocker, Brian, my Parents, my wife…the list goes on.
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Betty Crocker has a Cinnamon Oats recipe.
Discovering that my pantries were void of raisins, I opted to rest on the seventh day as well and gather materials. I was also going to pick up some nutmeg but my wife found it in the back of the cabinet.
I have no more excuses.
I rested from my labors.
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I tried the Apples and Cinnamon oats again.
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The project continues.
I hate Oats.
At age thirteen, I already had a proclivity towards hating the stuff. Calvinists, would say I had a total inability to like it on account of my parent’s choice to feed me cream of wheat, every Sunday, without fail. So when I tried Oats back then my hatred was to be expected and warranted.
The second time I tried it, in my early twenties, proved no different. For some reason I figured, looking at the table of white people enjoying heaping spoonfuls, that it was something I would like at that point in my life: I was wrong.
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